Hustler
by LegendThriller
Summary: A night at the bar seemed like a good idea for Randy Orton, until one of the Diva's proved she was more than just a pretty face. (RandyStacey fic, R&R please!)


Author Note: No real explanation to this story....Just thought it would be cute. It's inspired by the HIGHLY UNDERATED movie, _Pool Hall Junkies._ I took some quotes from the movie just to get more cockiness in the chracter so yea..hope you enjoy it!

There she was. Sipping her Diet Coke and talking to Lita about their recent week "off" in Mexico where they were shooting the pictures for the annual swimsuit magazine. I watched her as she held her arm out to compare tans with Lita, and how she smiled when she saw she was more tanner. Her straw was flat at the top from chewing on it, and now she's leaning against the bar, her elbows proping her up to let her see what was going on in the small bar we choose to go to that night.

The pool tables were occupied by our fellow co-workers; Edge and Christian losing, painfuly, to Trish and Victoria at one table, Batista schooling Hunter at another. The lights that shown down on the tables had bills scattered over the top for the winner to collect, except Edge and Christian's table; Trish and Victoria just claimed another victory over them so Edge was writing an IOU on a napkin.

Now she was looking at me. Those brown eyes of hers were smiling as she sipped her drink, playing with the lemon on the side of the glass. Jericho nudged me in the ribs, hard, and threw an arm around my shoulder lazily, not caring that his drink in his other hand just spilled.

"Junior, you're 24years old now. I say, it's about time, you find a pretty lady, and settle down," he told me. "Go get Red over there, she's looking mighty hot tonight. Or, get her friend. Man, can you imagine what they do when they're alone together?" It's offical, Chris Jericho is drunk. "Hey, whats Legs shirt say?" he slurs. I take a look over at Stacey, just in time to see her back turn to me. A black shirt, jeans, flat shoes, her hair down...Yes, she was a vision.

I felt guilty for looking at her the way I did, Mom would smack me if she saw me look at Stacey like that.

"Be a man Randy!" Hunter shouted from the pool table.

It's times like these that made me wish I stayed with the Marine Corps.

I took a drink from the Budwiser I was currently having and made a sour face when I realized that I was down to the horse piss part of the bottle. Putting my beer down on the table, I decided to get another drink, that way when I talk to Stacey, it won't seem so obvious.

Ordering another beer, I brought my wallet out to pay for it, but a soft, well manicured hand stopped me.

"I got it covered," she told me, motioing to the bar tender to put it on her tab. I glanced up and saw Stacey smile at me, bashfully. "You had a rough night, Legend Killer." Now it was my turn to smile bashfully. She traced the scar that was on my forehead with her nail lightly, sending chills down my spine.

"What are you doing tonight?" I asked, then realizing how stupid that must've sounded since our night was over.

"Well, I thought I could maybe hustle some of the guys for their money, but it looks like Trish and Vic got that covered," she told me grinning. I took a quick glance at her outfit again, and realized her shirt read _Hustler._

"Hustle the guys?" I asked her, getting into my cocky persona. "I'm sure they just let you win, nobody would want to say they beat a pretty face like you." A smirk appeared on her face, her lips pressed tight against each other. Standing up straighter, Stacey took another sip out of her drink, and began to walk over to an empty pool table. I followed her, with that cocky smirk plastered on my face.

I threw my wallet onto the table, waiting for her to do the same. "I got fifty dollars that says you'll lose," I told her, chalking up my stick.

"Funny, because I got two hundred that says I'll win." Taking out her wallet, she showed me two crisp one hundred dollar bills and placed them on top of the light. "You up for it, Orton?" I saw Batista and Hunter walk over towards me, knowing they're going to egg me on. Great, peer pressure in front of Babe Of The Year, that's what every guy wants. Nervously, I pulled out my wallet, and put two hundred on top of the light.

"That's four hundred dollars Randall," Hunter told me, as if I needed to be reminded. "You can buy a lot of beer with that."

Stacey bent over to rack up all the balls; lucky me, she had her back turned to me. Batista stood beside me, and whistled as we saw the top of her thong peek out of her pants. Nudging me, Batista told me, "I got a feeling she know's what shes doing."

"Yeah.." I agreed. "So do I." Once she finished, Stacey turned to look at me and Batista, and saw us checking her out.

"You know, Randy, it's not how you play in pool; it's how you move." Raising her eyebrows, she turned back around and took the first shot. Motioing for me to take my turn, she moved aside, biting her bottom lip as she did so. "I remember this kid once who could move around a pool table like nobody had ever seen. I mean, hour after hour, rack after rack, their shots just went in. The cue was part of their arm and the balls had eyes. And the thing that made them so good was... They thought they could never miss. I know, 'cause that kid was me." I took a shot, trying to block out what she just told me. The white ball didn't hit any of the other ones, it just slid by like it was a clear street.

"Stace, I don't think young Randall know's what he's doing," Batista said to her, shaking his head as he did so. "Why not let him take four balls off the table?" A huge smile came across Stacey's face, making her seem even prettier than she already was.

"Dave, that's a great idea. Randy," she moved over to the side, "take four balls off the table, think of it as a gift, ya?" Four balls? No sweat, I'm bound to win now!

Getting back into my cocky persona, I stratigcaly put four balls in the pockets of the table, looking at Stacey each time. She leaned against the wall, chalking up her cue, slowly, but surely. Satisfied, I took a step back, allowing Stacey to take her turn. Feeling a hand on my shoulder, I turned to see Edge; his eyes were tired and bloodshot from the smoke in the bar, and I had a feeling he was going to tell me something I didn't want to hear. "She's going to kick your ass."

"No she isn't," I quickly defended myself.

"Dude, she totally is. Did she let you take balls off the table?" I nodded my head. "So did Trish and Victoria. Me and Christian owe them each one of those stupid Louis Vutton bags. They cost $1500! At the cheapest! Do you have any idea how pissed off Alanah and Denise are going to be when we get home? That precious week off we get next week, I'm spending on the couch." He walked away, over to Christian, and the two of them left the bar without saying goodbye to anyone.

The next time I looked at the table, Stacey was sinking the eight ball. Standing up on her tip toes, she gathered the four hundred dollars. "Again?"

"Fucking right." Taking out my wallet again, I put another two hundred on top of the light.

"More." Standing with her arms crossed, Stacey looked up at the light. "Two hundred was last game, its always more the second time." She put up five hundred. Closing my eyes, I dug deeper in my wallet, putting up five hundred as well.

She took the first shot, again, and manage to hit all of them like it was nothing; and being the nice girl that she is, she let me take four balls off the table, again.

I didn't even get to take a shot that game.

I had to give up after that. Stacey Keibler just took seven hundred dollars of my hard earn money. Just a precious five dollar bill was left in my wallet, and I wasn't willing to bet that on another game.

I think Stacey saw how depressed I was at that moment since she came over and wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me in for a hug.

"How much you got left?" She asked, looking up at me. She had that twinkle in her eye that ment she was up to something, and I wasn't willing to fall for it. Nope, not me. Randy Keith Orton, youngest World Heavyweight Champion ever, will not fall for a pretty girl's trick.

"Five dollars," I told her calmly, giving her my smirk.

"Five dollars says I can tell you where you got your shoes." Oh, now it's on.

"Stacey honey," I said to her, "good luck. I got these shoes when we were in Japan. Finest leather they have, and as you know, Japan as plently of malls."

"Randy honey," she mocked me, "I didn't say I could tell where you bought them, I said where you got them. And right now, you got them on your feet." She held out her hand, knowing she was right. Embarassed, I took out my wallet, and handed her the last bill that was in there. She took it out of my hand slowly, letting me take a good look of the last bit of money I had that moment. Taking out the wad of bills that were in her back pocket, she added the five to the front, then put the many back in her pocket. Leaning over, she gave me a kiss on the cheek and walked away.

I grabbed my coat that I left with Jericho and walked out of the bar with Dave, defeated of playing any more games that night.

"You know, when Stacey let you take the balls off the table, you were just letting her have more room to make her shots," Dave told me once we pulled out of the parking lot.

Stacey Keibler truly was, a hustler.

Author Note: There ya go, just a one-shot thing. I thought it was cute, so yea....Tell me what you think.


End file.
